Thirst
by dennybrose
Summary: "'There's someone else,' he muttered, 'I can smell them. Rollins, go check.'"
1. Hilary - 610

****AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This is a story I want to start in the middle of working on Fix Me. That's the simple reason lol. The longer is I saw someone on Tumblr once upon a time say, "What about the Shield as vampires?" and I thought that idea was really cool. So far as I know, neither that poster nor anyone else has written fanfic with the idea - maybe they have and I haven't read it. Whatevs. The point is this what this is, and I took a different approach from most of my stories. I also ripped off of Stoker because I'm finishing up Dracula for a class. I've always loved vampires anyways so if you get a bunch of Dracula, Nosferatu, True Blood, etc. vibes then good for you. No Twilight though.

_Feedback on whether this is worth continuing and if you like the narrator. And also feedback on what you'd like to see from the Shield as vamps because I honestly don't know what to do with the plot_ :| Don't really want this to be centered on romance.

* * *

**June 10 – 11:50 PM - Hilary's Diary**

It was a dark and stormy night…

Actually it wasn't; I just heard that's a really good way to start a spooky story. And this one's a thriller, lemme tell ya.

At least I can try to tell ya, since it only happened three hours ago and I can barely sleep.

I was staring into the bathroom mirror at my wavy brown locks that I worked so hard on to get that perfect beach look – even though this town is miles away from a decent beach. This was only to benefit getting the attention of Corey, whom I knew would be at Nate's All-American Grill tonight.

I heard obnoxious knocking at the door and assumed it was poor Zoe getting impatient, so I checked my favorite grapefruit-flavored lip gloss quickly and opened the door. No surprise: there she was in shorts, a lime green tank top, and a darker green track jacket, all capped off with white tennis shoes. She figured the less intense she dressed, the more likely she'd attract male attention – but I keep telling her it really doesn't matter how she dressed when men had one ultimate goal.

Said goal? You shut up and stick your ass up.

"So why have you been in the bathroom the past twenty minutes checking your cleavage and hair?" she yelled at me over the jukebox blaring the Eagles on this warm, early summer night.

"I just walked into the bathroom for two minutes because my stomach hurt," I lied, avoiding eye contact as we walked down the long hallway, "and when I looked in my reflection, my hair looked awful, so I went and fixed it. And don't talk about my cleavage; this is my favorite t-shirt and it just happens to swoop low."

"Low enough for Corey…"

"Shhhh." I lifted my shirt up from the cleavage point as we stopped, standing beside a wooden wall plastered with vintage photos of Nate's Grill before his grandson took over.

This was no doubt everyone's favorite hangout in town, especially in the summer when the lemonade and sweet tea were at their best-tasting, and the burgers hit the spot after a long day of yard work. So it's never been a surprise to me to usually find smoldering-sexy Corey here, brooding in a corner booth, gnawing on fries in a white tank top and staring a hole into every patron who walked around the restaurant. He wasn't this dreamboat by any sense of the tradition, but he was the kind of cool you wanted to be around, and he was definitely the guy you'd call whenever you got into fights.

He was also the subject of many people's gossip circles concerning…_them_.

Yes, that's right: _them_. The growing army that saw fit to center itself in this olden day-style California town. They obviously hated every human that walked in it, and since Corey seemed like the type to dissociate from any and every one, it only made sense that he was, in fact, one of _them_. But I've yet to see any kind of conventional symptoms to prove otherwise, so until that time comes, stay pressed, jealous bees, that a human covered in tattoos with an eerie glare doesn't want you!

Anyhow, I double-checked my v-neck tee, black shorts, and blue running shoes (which I thought would be a cutesy, sporty touch) before we were set to walk out to the restaurant seating again – but just as soon as we peered our heads out, the area was empty, save for that pest Brad, and Grandson Mike.

"Hey Mike, what's going on?" Zoe called out, and Mike shrugged his shoulders.

I, meanwhile, looked around the entire restaurant for any sign of him.

No Corey.

On a Saturday night, no Corey. Suspicious? I most definitely am.

"Hey Hilly…!" I heard Brad yelling at me, but I was too busy looking around the restaurant to care.

That's when it happened:

As soon as I looked back toward the kitchen, one of the windows exploded, glass flying everywhere, and one of _them_ leaped in like a master cat burgular. He, dressed in all-black cargo with a taskforce vest and combat boots, walked over to Mike's prized jukebox, and with a toned, tatted arm slammed his bare fist into the glass that displayed every song in the thing. He pushed his fist in so deep that it destroyed the sound system inside, an impeccable feat that one could only dream of doing if they were sick and tired of listening to the same Céline Dion tracks on a nightly basis. Mike, in his stupid navy blue polo shirt and white-and-blue plaid board shorts, walked from out of the kitchen and over to the dude.

"Excuse me, but JUST WHO THE HELL ARE YOU? DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM, WHAT THIS PLACE IS, AND WHAT YOU JUST BROKE? ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW WITH THIS SHIT? REALLY, DUDE? REALLY? REA-"

And before he could get his next "really" out, the taskforce fellow (thankfully to be honest) snatched Mike by his throat and slowly lifted him into the air, watching as the heir to the grill slapped on his wrist and wiggled his legs. Zoe and I just stood back in awe, until we heard the bell on the main door jingle, and we cowered back into the shadows of the hall at the sight of a portly man in a suit, his black hair wrapped around the back of his head and tied in a small ponytail like a lazy, modern friar. I made fun of him in my mind, but in reality, I wouldn't dare say a word to him. Him, nor his three bodyguards dressed in similar taskforce vests, cargo and combat boots as the jukebox killer. Those three guards walked closely behind the suit, one cracking his knuckles hidden by leather gloves, the other two just standing by with their hands at their sides, looking around the dead restaurant.

"What's happening?" Zoe hissed at me when I turned back to her, pushing her further into the hall. I shut my eyes for a moment and sighed, shaking my head slowly.

"It's the Impalers."

In other spaces, we called that foursome Paul Marley and the Impalers, but I didn't think it was too wise to be cracking jokes when it was Paul Heyman, the leader of the group, and then the henchman suffocating Mike.

We refused to peer back over the wall to the restaurant, but we could hear everything loud and clear as Paul ordered: "Put the kid down, Hunico."

A loud thud and a bunch of coughing soon followed.

"…W-what…can I help you with, um, Paul, sir?" Brad stammered out, and the response he got was a low yet high-pitched giggle.

"You know exactly what we came here for, good ol' Brad. Good ol' Mike."

"Great! You wanted something to eat, which is good because boy you vamps sure like to eat a lot…! Heh! Let me go find some deer hearts in the fridge or something…"

"That won't be necessary Mr. Maddox. Seems you aren't as aware about the situation as you should be."

"…Mind telling me what I should be aware of, Mr. Paul, sir?"

"Why, certainly!" He seemed pleasant enough. "Mr. Mizanin here owes us quite a bit more than he originally thought he did, and, well, he should've told you about it, quite frankly, considering it's coming out of your and Alex's paychecks. So I apologize on his behalf for him not informing you."

"Fuck you, Paul…!" I heard Mike struggle out between coughs. "I paid you…last week; that was $2000 in that briefcase…"

"My friend here, Roman Reigns, is our leading accountant. Roman, do you mind telling these gentlemen how much you counted from the briefcase?"

I took the opportunity to peer from behind the wall, keeping one eye out but the other hidden just in case I made myself visible. When I looked, I saw a ripped, tan-skinned, long-haired gladiator-type (I swear he could be a gladiator!) say through parted lips, "$800."

"And…how much does Mr. Mizanin owe us?"

"$4000."

Mike scoffed at the thought alone but turned to Brad who was standing at the bar with his hands in his pockets. "I told you…$2000 in the briefcase by Wednesday. You said it was $2000, Brad."

"Looks like he lied to more than just us." The one who spoke up was the knuckle cracker, standing in the middle of the three and letting his black hair shine under the lights of the restaurant. For a group of ragtag guards they really liked fixing their hair, you know. Especially the one closest to us: a light brown-haired guy with blue eyes hooded by thick eyelids, who kept his hair slicked back like a proper gentleman. He had this pout going as he stood there, so still and almost unnerving. It was kind of hypnotizing – but maybe that's what _they've _always been good at.

The Roman guy walked up from behind Paul and grabbed Brad by the shoulder, pulling him back a little. Brad's hands came out of his jeans pockets and he stood in front of Roman, starting to shudder.

"Roman doesn't really like liars and people who don't keep their promise. And since we know much you really appreciate him, Mr. Mizanin, we're sure you won't mind if Brad helps us with dinner, right?"

"Wait…!" Mike pleaded, holding a hand out.

"Mr. Reigns, please feel free to eat."

I watched as Roman opened his mouth wider and Brad squeezed his eyes shut, tensing up immensely to the point where that fat artery in his neck started protruding. That was just easy picking, as Mr. Reigns's canine teeth grew longer and sharper in a flash (after a small twitch of his body too, no less), and before we all knew it, he wrapped a hand under the kid's jaw, pulled his head back, and sunk his teeth into the thickness of Brad's neck, ignoring the blood gushing out and all over the guy's blue t-shirt. Brad yelped at the bite and squirmed, and I watched his body grow limp by the second as he continuously lost blood and his skin turned white. Good ol' Mike just lay on the floor and watched – I couldn't see his face since his back was turned to us but I really hoped he was afraid. If he wasn't, he was the biggest douchebag ever times ten (he was already the town douchebag before undoubtedly).

When Roman was presumably full, he dropped a limp Brad and looked at his hand, disgusted that he wasn't cleaner with his feast. The leather glove-wearer shook his head at him, motioning his head toward the bar where white napkins lay.

Paul, meanwhile, started smelling the air, and his canines decided to show up to the party as well when his head flicked and he opened his mouth. "There's someone else," he muttered, "I can smell them. Rollins, go check." And the gloved Rollins walked over to the bar, leaped over the counter, and walked into the kitchen.

The Hunico guy stood beside Mike, making sure he wasn't going to escape – but the slicked back dude started looking around the restaurant a little. He looked almost like a wandering child, studying the atmosphere-

Holy shit he saw me.

I quickly moved back into the shadows, almost panicking but trying my best to keep my cool as Zoe stared at me in bewilderment.

"What happened?!" she whispered loudly, and I felt a chill down my right arm. I just knew Paul and the other guy (and Hunico for crying out loud) had heard her. I shut my eyes and took a few breaths to stay calm, ignoring her tugging furiously on my arm to get me to talk. "Hilar-"

I held a finger to my lips when I opened my eyes. She immediately stopped what she was doing and looked at me, examining my face to understand the message I was sending her. I looked to my left and saw the green back door that, if we ran, would lead us to the parking lot, and the wheels turned frantically in my head. I looked back at her, noting her confusion at my sudden calmness, and nodded slowly. I pointed to her, I pointed back at myself, I pointed to the green door, and I widened my eyes for a second to emphasize the immediacy of it all. She remembered the urgency from when we were kids and we had to hide somewhere in Chuck E. Cheese like we were in Vietnam swamps. Some things will never change.

Especially things like our running as, after a small pause and we heard Paul say, "Get them," we dashed out of the restaurant through the back door.

We ran around the corner of the building to the front, where not a car was parked except her red two-seater sedan and this large, black Suburban. She was a slower runner than me, so by the time I reached her car, I turned around only for a second to check on her and make sure she was behind me. She was, and she made everyone else know about it too when she let out this piercing scream and stepped back, looking behind me. I turned around, and I found myself face-to-face with the gentleman guard, who flashed his pearly white feasting utensils at me with a smile curving at the sides of his opened mouth.

I closed my own mouth and tried my best to stand tall, shaking at the knees and arms but being unable to move. His blue eyes just captivated me for some unholy reason, and he kept stepping to me until I felt his hot breath puffing on my mouth and the tip of his nose way too close to my own.

"It's okay, Zoe…" I had no idea what the fuck I was saying; she was a million feet behind me and this dude could've eaten my lips off if he felt like it. I had zero control, yet I was trying to make some. "It's okay; they only feast when they're like…really hungry, and when they smell something good. So like…good thing you didn't wash your armpits right?!" I nervously laughed as the guy looked at me in what appeared to be confusion and disgust.

"What the hell…?! I washed!" I shut my eyes for just a moment, trying my best to not respond negatively to a friend in need.

"Yeah, she did," he piped up, never removing his eyes from my face – except after he said that. He tilted his head and leaned in close to my neck, and I was ready to face the consequences. I heard Zoe whimpering which made my lip quiver, thinking of all the things I should've said to ex-boyfriends and my parents, how I should've just told them that I threw the party, not my brother Greg. I was a naïve teenager; what did you want from me…

"You did too, with pomegranates."

Yeah, that soap is the best – wait, what?

I opened my eyes and turned them to him, and he moved his face back to rest close to mine, looking down at my lips.

"Grapefruit."

I thought he was gonna bust a load right there based off the sound of the word "grapefruit," so I took a small step back. But just as soon as I did, he pressed his thick chest to me, pressing his many pocketed-vest against my padded bra (thank god for those) and pushed me back against Zoe's car. He blocked me in by placing both hands on the car, and I couldn't do anything more than raise my hands up to attempt to fight him off. I use "fight" loosely because I refuse to lie to myself.

He turned to Zoe, showing off his teeth as she held her hands into her chest and stared right back at him with eyes filled with fear. I mean if fear were measured in lasers, she could've killed him by burning a hole in his head. Would've been helpful right about now. He seemed amused by her trembling, and he was probably getting off by pressing himself against me as I was shuddering to no end. He turned back to me, closing his eyes and mouth as he leaned in toward my neck again. This was definitely it; I was gonna die. Death by blood sucking; my dad would be honored.

I let out a sob, and maybe that was a part of his arousal of the whole thing because he made a deep growl in his throat, pressing even further on me. I felt my ribcage getting squashed between a rock-hard torso, a thick vest with pockets filled with God-knows-what, and the car, and my breath shortened. I couldn't even breathe, and I tried so hard. Interestingly enough, he wasn't looking at my chest as it pushed to expand out, and I was starting to think, 'Hey, maybe this guy isn't into chicks so maybe he won't eat me.' He probably heard that – _they_ have all that power I think – and stared into my eyes. For a second, his eyes started to glitter under the parking lot lights, and he looked really pretty. Almost like pregnant-woman pretty: his skin glowed and he had this light-hearted spark about him. All the pain in my body faded away, and I lost just about all feeling as I stared into his eyes, into nothingness.

He shook his head no and parted his lips, leaning in toward my mouth – but then he stopped and pushed off the car. A gust of some kind of stink – like a mixture of fertilizer and fresh plastic – hit my nose when he kicked his leg back and stepped away from me. The entrance to Nate's opened and someone yelled out to him, "Ambrose, save them!" and I fell out of whatever spell I was under, shaking out the weariness. I regained correct vision in time to watch him wiggle his fingers goodbye at me, a smirk on his face before he turned around and jogged back inside the restaurant, the door being held open by the Rollins dude.

I slowly turned my head to Zoe, who was staring at me like I just had sex with a married man in front of her. I don't even know what happened, and I feel like she was already holding shit against me. But we said nothing verbally, just communicated through the eyes for a couple of seconds, and I turned to the driver's side and yanked the door open to get in. She ran right up to the passenger side and got in, ripping her keys out of her jacket pocket and throwing them at me.

She came back to my place and she's crashing on the couch now. I literally haven't written in a journal since I was 13 and got my period – I'm 25 now and this feels more like some shit out of the Notebook than a journal entry for later documentation.

I think you could be asking why I'm even documenting this, and why I kept underlining _them_ and _they_. To explain shortly: vampires. To explain with more elaboration: another time. Right now I'm getting exhausted, but the vamp who had a penchant for fruit and smelled like worms is stuck on my mind. Ambrose.

What does that even mean, "Ambrose"? Like ambrosial…like fruit! Is that what his buddies named him because he likes fruit so much? And not Ambrosia because that sounds feminine, so Ambrose is good, I guess? Does he have a first name? Do vampires even have first names? These Impalers have been here since the 1900s when this town was first created, yet I know shit about them.

Maybe I'll ask Zoe what she knows when she wakes up.


	2. Seth - 610

**June 11 – midnight - Lord's Journal**

I drank too much. Either that or Mike needed to check his blood with his doctor. I hope I didn't contract anything.

Roman was gonna catch Riley but that sucker ran out just in time.

Hunico didn't eat anything but he broke his hand after busting into that jukebox. It took Roman all his might not to suck the blood off the cuts of his knuckles. The guy's just too hungry all the time.

Dean keeps staring out the backseat window. "House of the Rising Sun" is playing right now and he gets into this weird trance when it comes on. I think he thinks it's relevant to his life or something, poor kid. Always trying to latch on to something to feel.

That's also why I saved those chicks before he did anything stupid. One time he outright fell in love with this one chick with fun bags the size of cantaloupes, and just when we thought he was gonna scare her but let her go, he straight-up ripped her head off. Most of it was because he smelt blood on her before, but not the kind he wanted to drink and it definitely was from a place that was not okay to drink from. But she didn't say anything when she was wooing him into a false sense of security to escape, and he was offended by his feelings getting hurt again.

He falls easily.

I have no idea why Paul keeps assigning him the task of scaring off women when Dean just falls in love with them. That's not scary; human chicks dig this vampire shit. And I'm not gonna lie: Dean's a handsome bastard.

That never leaves this notebook.

**June 11 – 12:30 AM - Lord's Journal**

Paul's extravagant house is filled with gorgeous vamp tramps sprawled out over couches and armchairs, just waiting for their heroes. Problem is: we're all exhausted. I just made it to my room I share with Roman, one across the hall from Dean and Dolph's, and I'm not about to head downstairs again. Paul ended up hosting that party.

You might be asking yourself, "Seth, why are you so tired? Didn't you wake up a couple of hours ago?" Yes.

But running around doing Paul's dirty work can wear a guy out when he hasn't drank as much as he should've. Besides, I really think there's something in Mike's blood. I might be catching something.

Oh who am I kidding? I'm already dead.

Think I'll take this opportunity while Roman's outside talking to Dolph to explain what was happening tonight, since this is all for you anyways, sir.

Paul runs this assassination team comprised of vampires. They're SWAT-looking chums who kill whoever for a small sum of money that's paid to Paul but he splits it among whoever's helping him. For the past year now, he's stopped randomly selecting people to help and assigned them to other, lower-scale tasks. People like Alberto, Dolph, Cody, Wade…it's not that they're bad at what they do, he just trusts us four better:

- Hunico – a bat from Michoacán in México. You can understand why he'd trust him.  
- Roman Reigns – from Florida. His family is notorious as a dominant vampire empire in the southeast region of America, and Roman's just a badass motherfucker.  
- Me – from Iowa. My existence is a lot like the vampires in Iowa: nobody thinks there are any, but then we pop out and suck you dry when you least expect it. I use that to my advantage when I'm on the attack, and I'm damn good at it.  
- Dean Ambrose – from Cincinnati. That guy…

Just had to pause there because Roman's calling me downstairs for a meeting with the rest of the house while Paul's at his little shindig. But let me just say that Dean's our special member of the group. It's good that Paul brought him under his wing (no pun) because he wouldn't have survived as well as he is now. Dean's a menace to the female population, but he knows what to do when he needs to kill men.

**June 11 – 1:10 AM - Lord's Journal**

They let me jot down notes for the meeting in this journal. Cool. This stuff is really supposed to be top secret, but I guess they trust you a lot, sir. Be proud.

This is roughly how the meeting went:

Dolph ran the meeting since he had a lot to say about tonight's venture. Paraphrasing without the obscene language, he was pissed that we ran off to get Paul's money without a good-enough plan. Seemed good enough to me, really: we bust into Nathan's Grill, get Mike, Brad, and Alex, and make them give up the money. We knew it was stashed there, and we knew all three of them were chickenshits. But clearly Dolph was fixated on the fact that Alex escaped and Roman was extremely hungry, so getting Mike and Brad wasn't the wisest thing apparently.

You know what I always say: if you want it done right, do it your damn self, and that's exactly what Dolph should've done. But whatever, dude.

Our earlier stop to Sheamus's house was a bust since he wasn't even there, and Dolph questioned why we even bothered. It was worth a shot is the best answer; what more do you want?

Then he asked what we planned to do next, and that's when Dean spoke up for once. He mentioned that the McMahons were closing in on our territories and plans of action, and we needed to start eliminating the enemy instead of getting back financial resources for more juice and chicks. Del Rio agreed and asked if he could tag along for the sake of helping keep priorities in order to which Roman said for him to "fuck off."

There's always this weird competition between the top assassins and the B-squad assassins and it's getting stupid. I for one welcome anyone else to help us because it means we have more opportunities to dominate. Guess that's complicated to understand from Roman's POV though.

Dolph laughed at the exchange and said that Heyman was a stooge for not coming up with anything better for his so-called A-squad. Dean piped in with something about us being more like bodyguards than true-to-life assassins and Ziggler agreed. Dolph also said that we needed to stop getting distracted by the chick victims and either suck them dry or bring Bray to turn them, whatever works to avoid them getting in the way.

We also needed to get that Corey Graves out of the way since he was the main human in the middle of the worlds.

Now Corey I can agree to get rid of. He's been a thorn in my side for months now, and it's about time someone shuts that punk up for his BS. He just thinks he can toggle back and forth between humans and vamp tramps, but nobody can do that and avoid getting bitten. He's definitely up to something with the McMahons and I'm not about to let him kill us off because he's trying to make himself famous.

We remember the last time that happened…

So anyways, I was all for that plan and Dean groaned in frustration, but he was gonna do it anyways. That was his thing: to get pissed and whine and complain about shit but eventually get to it. Besides he hates Corey as much as I do, so why he'd get mad is beyond me. It's time for justice on our parts.

I'm being called to another meeting…me personally. By Heyman. Oh boy.

Will continue this later.

* * *

****AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Thanks to the people who reviewed the first chapter :) I'm excited to see where this story goes, and I'm really interested in writing it as I am now, in different POVs and in journal entry form. Let's see how it goes.

P.S. I have no idea how to write in Seth's mind but I tried ok.


	3. Zoe - 611

****AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Filler; don't bother reviewing it unless "OMG WHAT INTERESTING INFORMATION" lawl

* * *

**June 11 – 10:15 AM - Hilary's Diary**

This was the 3rd time Hilary asked me about the Impalers and as I keep telling her, it's nothing to sit around and just casually discuss like gossip. It's history!

Maybe I can explain it in her journal:

Impalers came here in 1906. The SF earthquake and fires happened and a lot of vamps that were "stationed" in San Francisco obviously traveled as far as they could from the destruction to stay safe (one of their weaknesses is fire) – SO they ended up here just an hour or so southeast-y of the city. It started with a couple hundred of them and now they're half the population of a town filled with 50, 000 people. Well, humans.

They're called Impalers because of the police dept back in the 1940s. The fuzz was actually recruiting people for WWII and they tried to get the vampires, but they were having none of that shit and therefore impaled a few cops. A few turned into way too many, and once upon a life they used to be impaled themselves in order to die, but they found a way to avoid that. It can be Kevlar vests, titanium hearts, really intense kung fu skills – you name it they got it. All in the name of protecting their species.

The vampires are headed by this guy named Paul Heyman. He was around when they were much more violent and gave-no-shits, but now that they've learned to live in peace with humans for the most part, the violence is only justified when shit goes down. Humans tend to ask vampires for help fighting-wise, which is Paul's main concern. He heads a force of Impalers whose goals are to assist with assassinations and whatnot – but even those have to center around Paul's needs.

That would explain those four vamps who killed Brad and I presume Mike last night at Nathan's. Mike owed Paul money, he didn't pay Paul enough, he got killed for it. Brad, I don't get why they ate him, but I won't argue with them.

But one thing that freaked me the hell out was the vampire that was after me and Hilary outside when we were trying to escape. One of his buddies said his name was Ambro. Ambrose, maybe? Whatever.

He glowed.

These vampires don't normally glow whatsoever. All of his companions and even Heyman never glowed. They're all paleish, disgusting things with mobile fangs and whatnot. This guy? He has this flushed skin about him and his eyes glitter. He had a weird stink about him too. Vampires just smell like…well, come to think of it, they smell like nothing.

So what's the deal with the Ambrose guy?

I asked Hilary what she thought and she said he probably just got out of his box before he went out, so the leftover smell was all over his clothes. I mean that's logical, but not really.

He also really liked fruit because he smelled Hilary's soap and her lip gloss. The gloss I understood because it was external, but the soap? The soap isn't that potent, so how could he have smelt all that?

He's a super vampire. There's no other explanation. By super vampire I mean Dracula.

My god he's DRACULA.

Gotta go tell Hilary!


	4. Hilary - 611

**June 11 – 9:00 PM - Hilary's Diary**

In the last entry, Zoe talked about _them_ – okay whatever vampires – and their history, and she declared the Ambrose person was Dracula.

I don't know; it doesn't really make sense to me, but whatever. I brought this diary with me on our lovely evening out.

We were invited to a house party hosted by sweetheart Daniel Bryan (he owns a vegan restaurant downtown that isn't that bad but I'm a carnivore…wow I'm pretty much confirmed to be a vampire, aren't I). He's literally the nicest person in the world; I don't know how anybody could hate him. His beard could be chopped though, if his old lady Brie would just recognize that and let him shave…

It's the beginning of summer for the younger ones getting out of college and whatnot, so Daniel's being generous and having this vegan-vegetarian-meat barbeque – again he's just so sweet! Average vegans wouldn't even think of combining those things.

Being invited to do some hoola-hooping since they heard about these outrageous hips; brb.

**10:45 PM**

He showed up oh god…

Corey of course. How do I deal with this?

**June 12 – 12:40 AM - Hilary's Diary**

Another encounter with the Impalers HOW DO I BEGIN TO DESCRIBE THIS

I finally got to talk to Corey first off. He was watching me in the corner of the back porch, sipping on a beer and studying my hoola-hoop game – before it even looks like I'm being arrogant he walked up to me and said "I was checking out your hoola-hoop game" so there.

Anyways he and I just talked about hoola-hoops and the latest Giants game that kinda sucked, but whatever. The fact that he knew I'm a Giants fan was just…oy, and him just talking to me about baseball amazed me. I couldn't even drop knowledge on him because I was mesmerized by his plump lips letting slip baseball factoids. My goodness.

Okay I'm getting carried away. Back to the Impalers!

We were talking in the backyard, then we heard some chick screaming over a Fun. track and I thought she was shocked by the quality of the song. Next thing we know we hear all this frantic running, doors opening and more screaming. So the few of us outside peered inside through the windows and back door, and we saw a bigger posse of _them_ than the night before! I'm talking instead of just four Impalers, we got four plus Heyman standing at the front door and two others – one I instantly recognized from television interviews as being the unofficial ambassador of the army: Dolph Ziggler.

My eyes were glued to my favorite fruitcake storming into the kitchen toward the back of the house though: Ambrose. He kept the same slicked back hair and not-so-pale skin – I also noticed right off the bat that as he was stomping into the kitchen he was staring a hole through the window to Corey.

So Corey grabbed me by the hand and pulled me along with him INSIDE OF ALL PLACES…to have words with Ambrose. I was so baffled by the whole thing as I stood behind Corey, looking away and Ambrose stood opposite of us in the empty space. I managed to remember the jist of the conversation:

"I actually don't have any issue with you; you know that," Ambrose said coolly.

"So who does?" Corey put his hands in his jeans pockets, trying to match Ambrose's cool, but it wasn't working because when I looked at him for a moment, he was trembling at the knees. "I see you guys everywhere, and if I'm being honest, it's starting to get on my fuckin' nerves."

"Well coming after you gets on _my_ fucking nerves, because I don't have shit to do with you, man. But you know who has an issue with you."

"If I knew, Dean, I wouldn't have to ask you…" Dean! His name is Dean Ambrose.

Who picked that name…?

"ROLLINS…has the issue with you. Reigns does by way of Rollins. Ziggler thinks you're full of shit like I do-"

"Thought you didn't have a problem with me?"

"Thinking you're full of shit doesn't mean that's a problem for me. I think a lot of people are full of shit, like your little plaything behind you."

Oh god he was talking about me…

"The hell does Hilary have to do with this?" NAME DROPPING TO ONE OF _THEM_ – NOPE.

"Hilary."

I had looked up at him from over Corey's shoulder and I saw him staring right back at me, his skin brightening at the sight of me. He shot his mouth open and his fangs popped out like sharp, white daggers – if it was a scare tactic it was a damn good one. But once again, his eyes glittered under the house's lights, and I found myself lost in, I don't know, blue pools with a dead center? Something poetic like that, it was beautiful.

BUT HE WAS A DEAD GUY!

"Yeah, her name is Hilary." Corey's voice brought me a bit out of the trance. "What do you want with her?"

"Nothing," he said with a slight lisp thanks to those teeth sticking out, "she was just in my way a night ago and she thought she could outwit me." He turned his attention to Corey and I fell out of that spell entirely, feeling like someone just placed a thick textbook on the top of my head and expected me to balance it. "Much like the rest of the humans. You used to know something about that, didn't you?"

By the time I regained my balance and whatnot, I realized what I just heard and the fact that Corey wasn't responding to it.

I said "Used to know…?" out loud, and Corey turned his head just slightly to his left to say something to me, but before I knew it he got socked in the face by a thick, barely-tanned hand. I stumbled back when I saw Corey hit the floor, and I looked up to see the brute – Roman I believe his name was – with his fangs sticking out as he stared at his potential dinner below him. He slowly looked up and caught my eyes, and I turned right around to the door to run. But there was Fruit Boy smirking and blocking the door. I started backing up slowly until I bumped into something hard and bumpy; when I turned around I saw this uber-tall and fellow semi-tanned guy staring at me with exposed fangs and wide black eyes. His hair was also slicked back, and his massive arms were nothing short of intimidating as he flexed them, balling his fists up.

"Don't fucking touch her…" Corey managed to get out before he was kicked in the ribs. I had backed away from the other Impaler I came face-to-face with until I bumped into Ambrose, and he snatched me by the hair, yanking my head to the side. I thought he was going to break my neck with all the force he used, but I felt his other hand sneaking up the back of my shoulder and his fingertips along the exposed flesh he was ready to sink his teeth into. But he wasn't doing it. He was just rubbing the spot, and I felt his lukewarm breath smooth its way into my skin as I shut my eyes. The pain I felt from my neck being angled awkwardly went away, and he ran the tip of his nose along the back of my ear, presumably to smell my hair.

I didn't understand anything that was going on. I kept thinking, JUST BITE MY THROAT ALREADY but he wasn't doing anything. He was just smelling me and touching my neck. WHY?!

And the worst thing was as I started to calm down and didn't struggle as much, Corey was watching. Despite what I heard earlier, I was willing to work out whatever the hell was happening with him and this former human business. I wouldn't be able to do that, however, if Dean Ambrose was literally giving me the fingers *can't wait for Zoe to read that later

"Take him to the van," I heard someone say, and when I opened my eyes, I saw the two-tone-haired guy with gloves standing a little bit farther away from the huddle, staring down at Corey. He looked up at Dean holding me and rolled his eyes, sighing: "What'd we talk about on the way over here?"

"I'm not gonna eat her…"

"I'll do it if you won't," Big Tan Arms piped in with a smirk. His fangs were still apparent as he narrowed his eyes at me. I started to frantically shake my head at the thought, but I felt some reassurance.

"No!" Dean protested. He let go of me, and I turned around slowly to look at the face of this creep who didn't even do what they say they do. He put up his fangs and motioned with his head to the front door. "Go."

I didn't want to just leave though, when someone else's life was in clear and present danger. "Corey-" I pointed down to an injured Corey, but Dean interrupted me again.

"GO."

And I jetted.

Daniel's house is only four blocks from Zoe and I's apartment so I managed to get home on foot okay BUT THAT'S NOT THE POINT WHEN I WAS ALMOST VAMPIRE SIDES WITH THE MAIN COURSE. Who knows what they did with Corey! There'll be no sleeping tonight; I'm pretty sure.

I gotta go find him or something.

Talking to Zoe about this.

**June 12 – 1:10 AM - Hilary's Diary**

She said we're not gonna find him and I should've said goodbye to him at the time.

Or worn a lower-cut shirt to leave sooner.

This is literally not okay.

* * *

****AUTHOR'S NOTE:** What do you think, is Corey deadski? Should Hilary and Zoe find him? Or will the Impalers find _them_? 3spooky


	5. Roman - 612 - Zoe - 612

**June 12 – 3:30 AM – Lord's Journal**

I took over Seth's recording since he went into the basement to toy around with the Graves kid. Jesus I'm hungry as hell, but they aren't letting me eat. They as in Heyman, Dean, Seth, Dolph.

Seriously: who died and let Dolph be the leader of _this_ mission?

Before I get off-track, Seth wanted me to record this information for you, sir:

We received word Graves was at a house party – turns out it was this kid Daniel Bryan and his girl Brie's party (humans) – so we showed up and wrecked shit. Pretty simple plan if you ask me. How'd it get screwed up? DEAN AMBROSE IS HOW.

Instead of saying, "We need to kill you; stand here and watch as we suck you dry" he got all mesmorized by the human Graves was with and stalled the process. Alberto and I came in to save the day, but then he decided to grab her and toy around with her before Seth came in and got order restored. We took Graves to the van after his human ran off, and on the van ride back Dean got nothing but an earful of scolding from Seth.

It's sad sometimes, sir, to know your mission is getting fulfilled by a lovesick puppy and a pouty kid with leadership issues. He and Dolph have no idea what they're doing, yet Heyman allows it. He thinks they're good at what they do, while I'm stuck as the accountant and the powerhouse and whatnot. Dean's in his own world, but he gets shit taken care of.

I am chopped liver apparently.

No matter beca

**June 12 – 4:23 AM – Lord's Journal**

Seth called us in for an emergency meeting. Here are the notes:

Graves is the key, and as long as we keep him and report to the humans that he's dead, they'll never know…or care really. Humans have a funny way of being compassionate apparently, but when people die it's not a huge deal unless you're really popular. They're as much a dying breed as we are.

We strap Graves to a table and draw his blood into a tube, and that tube will hold your future undoubtedly. We take enough so that it'll be replaced by the vampire blood we have prepared specially for him and then he'll be fully turned.

He's the last half-human left roaming the streets that we need to collect in order to revive you and end this "combining of species" bullshit. Once we have our superhuman, we will be unstoppable and we will take over this shitty town, then this country.

These are not the notes Seth wanted me to write. I'll continue with what I'm supposed to:

We need to contact Dusty Rhodes – who's already broken up over his kid becoming an Impaler – and see what else needs to be sampled from Graves since he knows him so well.

We also, somehow, need to contact that human attached to Graves so we can find out any more information we need to about him. She'll arguably know more than Dusty considering she's probably…you know…yeah.

That's pretty much the gist of this whole operation. Seth'll write more later.

* * *

**ZOE**

**June 12 – 8:00 AM – Hilary's Diary**

VAMPS HOUSE:  
13 Wilshire Road (the last house w/ the creepy setting)

Yes _that_ Wilshire, the one that ends abruptly. No don't dress up; they don't care.

- Z

P.S. HE DID WHAT TO YOU?!

* * *

****AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Another filler chapter sort of but hey there's Roman Reigns!


	6. Hilary - 612

**June 12 – 12:05 PM – Hilary's Diary**

So I woke up this morning and opened this little book of terrors up to find Zoe has lovingly did some advanced research on my behalf, it seems. She found the dwellings of the Impalers! I asked her why, and she said she knew exactly what I was gonna do anyways: try to find Corey. And since I knew they took him, it only made sense to find out where they live so I could know for sure.

What a sweet friend to lead her bestie to Death's door. Literally. Love ya, Zo!

I went though (at 10 AM no less to get it over with sooner than later), and what I found out…jesus. I haven't even told Zoe yet; I figured I'd write it all out first to get my thoughts in order and then tell her. So if this book had feelings it'd feel like the luckiest person on the planet for being the premiere listener. Viewer? Whatever. Here we go:

Nobody ever drives down to the lower numbers of Wilshire Road because they know it gets more deserted by the second, and it was no different when I showed up. The house was massive and an off-white color on the outside. It was also gated off by black iron and concrete blocks with bushes on top to further obstruct the view from the outside world. The dirt was disgustingly gray, ashy, and different from the dirt on the other side of the gate, no joke. It was amazing to see the difference just standing outside.

You didn't drive in if you're human, and you didn't walk in either. So I had the pleasure of climbing over the bushes and the iron gates and concrete blocks and landing on my feet (thanks for those long years of gymnastics, Mom) into that god-awful dirt.

It smelled like fresh mildew, oddly enough. The smell was strong and solid, so it didn't escape me as I walked up the gravelly pathway to the front door. At least…I thought it was the front door.

It was an all-black door with no windows and no lock, to my surprise. I just pushed open the door, and I was then led to a pair of black doors, but this time, these had two half-length windows that were barred off (by, you guessed it, black iron). The first black door slammed shut as soon as I was inside the mini entrance area, and that alone creeped me the hell out more than the ashy dirt and punchy smell outside, but nevertheless I rang the doorbell.

I felt like somebody was expecting me or something because as soon as I looked from the doorbell button to the door again, this long, blonde-haired woman in a tight, black cocktail dress was standing there, glaring at me. She was ballerina-thin, as I like to put it, and everything on her just looked so long. Even her irritated face looked like it was drooping to the floor; I wanted to pick it up for her.

Anyways she opened the door with this caution and gave my jeans, white shirt, gray cardigan and self-hugging appearance a once-over topped with a snarl.

"Hi, I'm-" was all I said before she stepped to the side and looked down at the white marble floor she stood on with extremely high silver stilettos. I took that as a sign to "enter or else I'll eat you" so I hustled right on in, turning around immediately as she closed the door to explain myself.

"Listen, I'm here to talk to a vam…-Impaler in particular because he-"

It hit me as she opened her mouth and revealed fangs. The smell outside was tolerable but the smell of burning plastic and dead animals inside that mansion was surely gonna drop me right there. I coughed louder than what is deemed polite, and I tucked half my face under my t-shirt as she rolled her eyes.

"How do you stand that?!"

She said nothing and tapped one of her stilettos while crossing her arms over her chest.

"Okay, okay, um…I'm here because some Impalers kidnapped this guy I know, and I want some answers." Their names were escaping me. "OOH!" Oh wait… "One of them was uh…oh! Dolph Ziggler! And…Rollins…? And the one I wanna speak to…" Fruit Loops! How do I forget this guy? "Dan…Don…DEAN AMBROSE!" I was trying to keep my shirt over my face and gesture with my hands at the same time; it was barely working out, but I was trying my damndest to avoid that stink.

She looked to her right instead of responding to me, and when I turned in the direction she was looking, there he was. Same hair, same gear – does this guy change clothes ever?

Regardless of that, I was scared for my life as he stared at me with absolutely nothing in his eyes, and the bell woman scoffed.

"Still responding by your full name, huh?" she said to him with a smirk. He said nothing when he looked at her, and he motioned for her to leave, which she did swiftly, like she was trying to show off her suave ability to move lightly on her feet or something.

Meanwhile, Dean turned his attention back to me and chuckled, walking up to me casually. You know, like I shouldn't be afraid of a dead guy who won't eat me…yet. I started to back away, keeping my shirt over my face while he just kept coming, and I figured I should start explaining myself sooner rather than later.

"So I'm here because you guys…kidnapped Corey, and I wanna know…" He was inches away from me, causing me to stop walking and lower my hands. He raised his hands up to my head as I almost gagged at the smell, and he hovered one over my nose, ready to pinch it shut while the other went behind my head.

"What are you…" I stopped talking when he pinched my nose shut and held the back of my head. I started to struggle, trying to hold my breath, breathe somewhere else, and avoid being killed as I was, but he remained calm.

"Relax," he said. He leaned in closer to my face, staring into my eyes and there he went glowing again, looking about as pleasant as a spring day. I felt my body going limp and my eyes becoming drowsy, and he just kept staring at me. "Relax." His voice was so dreamy, and I found myself wanting to take him out to the park on a picnic with how perfect he was – until he removed his hands from my head.

I took a breath out of instinct, and I really expected to die inhaling all of that house smell, but when I smelled the air, I smelt nothing. I don't know how that worked, but I didn't smell…anything at all. I kept taking small breaths to see if it was a trick, but I definitely could not smell any kind of odor, good or otherwise. It was a miracle! But what…?

"How the hell did you do that?!" I gasped as he started tapping his fingertips together. "What did you do, seriously?"

"Magic," he whispered, wiggling his fingers at me before smirking at my amazement. He then gestured toward the, I suppose, parlor of the house, and I was going to protest to stay right where we were, but he must've read my mind: "Move."

I turned and followed him as he walked first, keeping his head up and walking with a weak swagger similar to my Uncle Darryl after some JD. I never saw him walk like that before; maybe he thinks he's hot shit because he made my nose immune to grossness. Big whoop, man. Had I known the place was gonna reek, I would've bought nose plugs, so you're not that cool.

Anyhow, he stopped just a couple of feet in the parlor and turned around to face me again, pouting his lips a little and rubbing the black tape on his hands.

"Continue," he said with a small amount of perky interest in his tone. I just couldn't get past him talking to me like a dog.

"You always rub on women's necks and command them to do shit like they're animals?" I couldn't help but ask; it was driving me up a wall how casual he thought it all was.

"If I hadn't said anything, you would've been standing there in the foyer like a fuckin' statue and I don't feel like dragging people around today unless they're dead." The hell?

"I would've moved if you said, 'Follow me to the parlor, miss…'"

"Not under the spell I placed on you."

"Excuse me?"

"You came here to ask about something, so I'm gonna pretend I don't know it's about Corey and let you ask…._miss_." Where'd my warm and glowy Fruit-by-the-Foot go?

I didn't really know what to say. I felt like asking him to pay some of my bills since he probably knew my Social Security number at this stage; shit was ridiculous. Nevertheless I kept my composure and gathered my thoughts (the ones he wasn't reading apparently), pulling my cardigan in as I folded my arms over my chest.

"Well…I came to find out if you…Impalers killed Corey Graves or not, and if not, what you're gonna do with him. And why the hell did you say 'used to know' last night when you talked about him being human?"

"He's downstairs, and he's a part of something much bigger than what you can wrap your little mind around apparently." He scratched his nose and kept staring at me, not blinking once. "Surprising how much you don't know about your boyfriend…"

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Ahh," he chuckled and nodded his head, "so your little crush then! Awww…"

"Look, I'm not here for you to patronize me and my love life; I need to know what you're gonna do to him."

He put his hands up in defense and walked ahead of me, this time not saying anything but still keeping that stupid smile on his face. Something compelled me to follow him (I assume that spell), and we only walked up to a metal door just feet away from the entrance where we first stood. He turned around to face me, and he gestured toward the door while dropping his smile.

"Downstairs, second room to your left. He's strapped to a table where he'll have the rest of the blood sucked out of him-"

"'The rest'…where'd _most_ of it go?"

"-the rest of the blood sucked out of him and he'll be fully turned. Now, do you wanna go down there and pretend you can miraculously rescue him or do you wanna stand here and ask questions?"

"I'm not going down there." I glanced at the door with a skeptical look on my face and turned back to Ambrose. "So answer my question."

"He's mostly vampire – you know: half-dead and all that?"

WHAT

"Seth Rollins – the 'Paler with two hair colors – beat his ass in a fight 7 months ago thus causing Corey to lose the bet…Rollins wins, Graves gets turned. But Graves sucker-punched Rollins mid-turn and escaped, which is probably why you didn't see him for a while I assume. He came back recently, 4 months ago, right?" He did. "That's why he left. And now they're gonna finish the job, while the rest of Graves's human blood will go to their Lord as part of his resurrection."

"When the hell is that?"

"One week from yesterday. Once the Lord is resurrected, they'll have turned Corey – the last half-human they know of – and they'll be able to turn this entire town before going on to turn this whole country."

I didn't know what disturbed me more: the idea of Corey being half-human this whole time I've interacted with him, or the idea of America becoming this vampire empire that this "they" was so dead-set on…no pun intended. Either way as I stood there in a state of shock, Dean merely lifted his chin up and clenched his jaw, letting his legs fidget a little.

I finally got some courage to ask something as I combed through my hair: "Is there no way to stop this?"

"Not unless you wanna die trying." Good answer. I sighed as I dropped my hand to my side and looked away, starting to feel sick to my stomach while he continued. "You should just lobby to become a vampire yourself so you two can be 'united as one' and all that shit…"

"Shut up," I said, rolling my eyes. While he giggled at his own lame joke, it came to me and I looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Wait a minute…why do you keep saying 'they' as if you're-" Couldn't believe it took that long to register.

"Not a part of this whole plot for world domination? Because I'm not."

"Well why not?"

"Because I'm not interested in that. I joined up with Heyman because he pays the best, and I kill because I like it and it's necessary. I don't have plans to make everyone bloodthirsty night dwellers, and I don't care for 'Palers being a bunch of dicks about half-humans roaming around, like it's detrimental to the species or some shit. They're still vampires; they're just in two worlds. Big fuckin' deal, you know? If anything, these vampires should all be shitting themselves trying to make sure there are _more_ half-humans so they can actually achieve this world domination thing and obliterate all the douchebags in this world, instead of dicking around and trying to make vampires this superbreed of people."

He likes fruit, has magical powers, and likes to be a political chief in his spare time; he could marry my mother if she was interested.

"And now I think it's time for you to go."

He gestured toward the door, and again I was compelled to follow his instruction instead of sticking around and asking more questions (which I undoubtedly had). That spell must've really been effective; I tried thinking about it as I turned toward the door, but I suddenly got this rush of pain in my head and I found myself dizzy, nearly collapsing. He caught me though as I stumbled, and he escorted me to the door while I held my hand to my head.

I could barely see ahead of me, but I heard the front door open and I saw myself standing in the entry way of the mansion as I was before. I turned back to the second door, seeing him standing in the frame while holding the door knob and having that same lack of emotion on his face as when he first saw me. It was the weirdest shift in expression I ever experienced – or maybe it was just what I imagined while my head was spinning into another dimension, I don't know.

But I do know this: I opened the first door, and the smell of the mildew slapped my nose silly. My sudden headache was gone as well, and as I looked out into the lifeless yard, I felt refreshed. I realized, however, that the sun was beaming on me at the doorway and was definitely shining into the entry way where Dean was absolutely standing in the way. I just knew that when I turned around he'd be dust or melted or a pile of blood – however these things die in the sun – and I turned around to see the result of his suicide (I mean what else would you call it?).

HE WAS STILL STANDING THERE.

He brought that patented smirk back on his face as I let out a gasp and my eyes widened.

"Aren't you gonna die?!" I asked incredulously. He shrugged at me.

"Nah."

He winked at me and closed the door but still stood behind the barred window, making sure I walked out. And that I fucking did, still confused and shocked as hell. I almost missed the door slamming behind me as I started running down the path to leave, and I just…

I mean think about it: he said the Lord needed Corey's human blood to be resurrected; Ambrose is in the sun…is he half-human too?! Is that what the hell Dracula was? THAT'S NOT WHAT I REMEMBER READING IN ENGLISH CLASS.

I understand nothing.

Zoe will make sense of it all, and I'm telling her ASAP.

* * *

****AUTHOR'S NOTE:** AW SHIT


End file.
